Deprivation
by TenshiXXX
Summary: It's Spain's birthday. He's one year older today  although he doesn't actually know how old he is . So why, then, is he stuck in a boring conference when he could be having kinky sex with Romano?


**I'm so sorry I didn't get this out yesterday for Spain's birthday. I couldn't finish it in time. I just hope it's good enough. Happy Birthday Spain!**

* * *

><p>They're in a meeting, and it's Spain's birthday. It's Spain's birthday, and <em>he's <em>in a meeting. A meeting about global warming or something equally boring in comparison to the fact that _it's Spain's birthday_. And he's bored. So so bored. And horny too. Horny and bored. Bored and horny. Not a good combination.

He hasn't seen his Lovi for weeks. They've both been so busy with work, there hasn't been time for anything more than conversations which often descended into phone sex, but Spain's very bad at it so it's not an adequate substitute.

And he needs sex. Needs it like England needs cooking lessons.

Alright, so maybe he doesn't need it quite that bad, but he's still really really horny. Lovi knows, because he's been smirking all afternoon, stretching a lot so that his tanned tummy shows (naked sunbathing, Spain recalls, biting his lip), and sucking on his pen, and singing loudly in that beautiful tenor whenever America opens his mouth (which is often), and, and, deliberately adjusting himself in his trousers whenever he knows Spain is looking at him...

It doesn't help that Spain knows that isn't a big pair of rolled up socks.

France looks worried when Spain groans and slams his head into the table with despair. Prussia just sniggers and says that he can handle more pain before slamming his own head into the table too.

It's Spain's birthday! Surely he deserves a big round of birthday sex, followed by some cuddling and lunch in bed? But Germany is babbling on about trade agreements and the state of the euro and other stuff Spain should have- would have- been listening to if he hadn't been so horny.

This is all Lovi's fault, he decides. Before Lovi, he didn't know what "horny" meant. Lovi _introduced _him to sex. Therefore, Lovi is to blame for Spain's horniness.

Besides, he's being sexy on purpose. He's doubly to blame! Which means double the sex later!

"Spain, do you have anything to add?" Germany asks. Spain is suddenly aware that people are staring at him, but he only sees Lovi's smirk.

"No," Spain says, still staring at Lovi, who is now ignoring him.

"Are...you sure?" Germany queries worriedly, but Prussia- oh how Spain loves his friends- interrupts.

"West, lay off," he demands, "It's his gajillionth birthday, and he's stuck in this shitty meeting instead of getting piss-drunk,"

Maybe Spain doesn't love Prussia as much as he had thought he did.

But Germany does lay off, so Spain is grateful and goes back to Lovi-staring. He knows that everyone else knows he's staring at Lovi, but he doesn't care. He's too horny to. France probably knows. He always knows what Spain is feeling, and he probably somehow sees Spain's need for sex as plainly as Spain sees Romano's chest when Romano undoes the top few buttons of his shirt.

"It's a little warm in here," Lovi says, and Spain thinks "_Liar_," because it's barely 20 degrees celsius and both him and Spain don't consider it to be "warm" until it reaches 30 degrees or more.

"Antonio, you're drooling," France informs him. Spain does not care. He might break soon and do something he will regret in front of all of these people. Only he might not regret it, since some nations have started to see that Lovi is _gorgeous _and _Italian _and _well-endowed_, and Spain wants them to know that all of that gorgeousness and Italian-ness and that big penis is _his_. So maybe public displays would be a good idea.

Then again, Lovi would get angry. He's still so easily embarrassed. That changes in bed, of course. That is probably one of the reasons Spain has become addicted to Lovi, and to sex with Lovi.

"Something wrong, Spain?" England asks smugly. He knows what's wrong, and he's obviously not been sex starved, so he's just relishing the chance to rub it in.

"Yes," Spain groans, "Yes there is,"

"What's wrong then?" Prussia asks, his concern genuine.

"I need Lovi," Spain sighs, laying his chin on the table. Lovi has put his feet on the table now, his shirt almost half open, his hair ruffled, smirking. Spain whimpers.

"What for?" Prussia asks with surprise.

"I _need _him," Spain says, trying to put all of his need into those few words. Prussia doesn't get it, but Japan chokes on his water, and France laughs quietly to himself.

Spain doesn't care who knows. He doesn't care at all. In fact, he is moments from disrupting the entire meeting and dragging Lovi out to an empty storage cupboard.

"What do you mean?" Prussia says.

"I need him!" Spain says, loudly this time, "I need _sex_! With him! I need to fuck him, Gil! I need him _in _me! I need his dick in me so badly! I don't care if it's in my mouth or my butt, I just need it! Oh, I could just cry!"

People are staring. Well, in hindsight, screaming that was obviously going to get people's attention. More people are choking on their water or complimentary chocolate biscuits, and many more are blushing, sniggering, raising eyebrows, or winking. Lovi hasn't reacted. He's just sitting there, smirking away. Spain wants to hit him. Fuck him and hit him. Normally, Lovi fucks _him _and hits _him_, because they both get off on a bit of paddling or spanking, and Spain's ass is normally as red as a tomato afterwards, and then Lovi fucks him _hard_.

Oh, this really isn't helping. He's just feeling hornier than ever.

"What, aren't you going to give him a good seeing to?" England asks finally.

"Nope~," Lovi smirks with a flash of white teeth.

"No?" England gapes, "Mate, half of the people here would give their right arm for a go at _that_,"

Spain frowns. He isn't a _that_. If that's how English men are, it's no wonder the women always go for the Latin types.

"They can keep dreaming," Lovi snaps defensively (always so jealous and possessive, and it's so sexy), "I'll fuck him in my own time. We're in a meeting, by the way. In case you forgot,"

Lovi is right, of course, but Spain really really needs him. Now. Especially since they're going out later for drinks, dressed up like pirates (hopefully, England won't be a butthole about it, because Spain doesn't want to punch anyone on his birthday), and there won't be time for sexing after that until late at night, when Spain will probably be even hornier because he's been drinking sherry and watching Lovi dancing around in a pirate costume.

So he does the only thing he can.

"Spain, dude, has France slipped you something-?" America asks as Spain once again gets everyone's attention- this time by climbing onto the conference table.

"Or the Netherlands?" America tries when Spain crawls across the table to where Lovi is sitting, scattering papers, knocking over England's lukewarm tea (straight into his lap, the bastard), and crouching in front of Lovi, on hands and knees.

"Yeah?" Lovi says. But he means "What are you going to do about it?" Spain might not be observant, but he knows Lovi, so he knows exactly what Lovi means. Because Lovi rarely means what he says, and rarely says what he means.

In an instant, he's slid down into Lovi's lap, and he's kissing him hard, rutting against him, feeling Lovi's hands on his ass- Lovi's hands are never very far from his ass, he is pleased to say- and Spain can taste a sneaky special-occasions-cigar on Lovi's tongue. He can feel Lovi's dick beneath him, trapped by his trousers but still rubbing teasingly at his clothed crack, jabbing his balls occasionally, spreading little tingles all over his body.

Spain knows he's panting into Lovi's mouth, and he knows that everyone is staring, but he doesn't care, because he's so horny and he's finally getting somewhere. And he's debating whether or not to open Lovi's trousers now and to just do it there. It will be painful, because Lovi's big, and lubricant is normally a must, but Spain doesn't care at the moment.

Lovi would never let him. That's the only thing stopping him. And it's probably not a good idea to let other people see Lovi's magnificent penis. Spain is just as jealous and possessive, afterall. Even more so. Lovi is his- every part of him- and Spain was never a sharing child.

"Let's go," he says, pulling back so that their lips brush.

He knows he's won. He's up, pulling Lovi with him by the arm. Their room is just upstairs. They can make it in time. Then they can have sex. Long, hard sex. And after that, a delicious lunch and a bath and a nap before a night of partying and grinding on each other in a Mallorcan gay bar, and then back to the hotel for more sex.

It doesn't take long. The moment the door is locked, Spain is ripping Lovi's clothes off, shirt buttons flying ("Antonio, you damn bastard! That's fucking Versace!"), the belt buckle hitting the window with an alarming crack.

When Lovi's naked, Spain starts pulling off his own clothes, tie and shirt and shoes all ending up in different places. Before the boxers can come off- custom made according to his measurements and ordered by Lovi, because it's so hard to find underwear which fits his butt and waist properly- Lovi is on him, pressing him face first against the bed, his cheek squashed against the sheets.

_Smack_. And then there's the sting. He cries out, not in pain but in ecstasy. Finally. _Finally_. He is getting sex. He feels the harsh press of Lovi's fingers kneeding his cheeks, spreading them apart, opening him up, closing him again. Desperately, he bucks his hips upwards, and he's rewarded with the fantastic feeling of Lovi's dick between his cheeks through his boxers. Lovi is squeezing Spain's ass around his dick, thrusting away, his dick catching Spain's hole through the thin material.

But it's not enough. He needs Lovi _inside _him. He's got one hand free, his shoulders pressed into the bed, his other hand supporting him. So, with his free hand, he seizes the waistband of his own boxers, pulling them down below his butt- Lovi pauses, he wants this too, and he can't get it if Spain's wearing his boxers- and baring his ass. He doesn't know what it looks like, since he's only ever seen his butt from strange angles when it was covered up- dancing has made him flexible, which is great for him and bad for everyone else when they play Twister. But he knows that Lovi likes it, and that's all that matters.

Lovi hisses, fumbling with the drawer of the bedside table where they stashed the lube when they arrived late last night. In seconds, Spain feels the press of Lovi's fingers, and he melts against the rumpled bedding. He's coaxed onto his side, and Lovi is behind him, fingers pressing deeply and one hand holding up his leg. Lovi doesn't need to stroke his dick, because this is enough. It's been so long, afterall. Besides, Spain's noticed that he can quite happily get off on anal stimulation alone.

"Is that what you want, you horny bastard?" Lovi's demands, spreading four fingers inside him until Spain thinks he might break, and he hopes for it. But he doesn't.

"Yes, yes, please," he pants instead, twisting in Lovi's grasp to kiss him sloppily, desperately, "Now, Lovi. Please,"

With a practiced hand, Lovi rubs his dick up and down Spain's crack teasingly until Spain moans out loud. He needs it. Lovi knows that. Why did Lovi insist on torturing him so much? But, of course, Lovi's always been just a tad sadistic, keeping a fantastic collection of riding crops, paddles, and leather gloves. It's lucky, really, that Spain's a masochist. They're made for each other.

"You want it?" Lovi asks again, "You want me to plug that sweet ass with my dick?"

Spain can't answer, because Lovi's dick is pressed against his hole. Lovi doesn't like that Spain hasn't answered.

"Answer me!" he snaps with another slap to Spain's butt. Spain shudders euphorically in his grasp.

"Yes, please, do it!" he grinds out, his toes curling spasmodically.

Lovi does. He's not gentle about it. With one jab of his hips, his balls slap against Spain's ass, and he's in deep, drawing a burning line there once more, etching his name into Spain's very being. It's beautiful.

"Fuck, your ass is as perfect as ever," Lovi pants, unmoving. Spain's not the only one who hasn't gotten any for weeks, and Lovi is always careful not to hurt him too much.

"Thank you," Spain pant-chuckles.

"So fucking round and firm and bronze. But with bounce,"

Lovi demonstrates this "bounce" with another slap to Spain's ass. Spain tightens around him, moaning out, then releasing again. He feels Lovi's breath stutter, and repeats the action.

He's not sure whether he should regret it when Lovi is suddenly slamming into him so aggressively that they're half hanging off the bed and Spain is almost crying in pleasure. He doesn't regret it. Especially not when Lovi starts with the dirty talk and roughness. If anyone else called him a whore or a bitch, Spain would punch them so hard that their head would spin like a top. But Lovi is special, and Spain loves it when Lovi _uses _him; uses him _hard_. He is probably covered in hickeys and bite marks and finger-shaped bruises and scratches, but...well, he _is _a masochist. It just makes it _better_.

Predictably, Spain comes without any stimulation to his dick and almost passes out because of the intensity of his orgasm. He's a boneless mess, and Lovi just keeps thrusting away, using Spain's body for his own pleasure. Spain keeps jerking with aftershocks, but he doesn't move and lets Lovi keep on, until he feels Lovi stiffen behind him, and there's a warm feeling inside his abused anus.

"Stay there," Lovi commands, as he pulls out slowly, rolling Spain onto his front, spreading his cheeks. Spain doesn't need to be told what Lovi wants. It's just a fetish Lovi has: watching his cum drip forced out of Spain's reddened anus. Spain pushes gently- not enough to cause any unpleasant air bubbles (trapped by Lovi's thrusting) to burst- and feels it drip out slowly, over his balls. He doesn't know why Lovi likes this, and he's not going to ask. He puts up with Lovi's strange fetishes, just as Lovi puts up with his oral fixation and roleplaying ("You be the mafioso, making me an offer I can't refuse~,") and obsession with having sex on the beach.

In hindsight, Lovi probably doesn't mind his fetishes at all.

"Are you done?" Spain mumbles, half asleep, flinching when Lovi smears the cum over his cheeks, "Stop it. It's cuddle-time now. Come here,"

Lovi mumbles something about pansy-assed cuddle time, but Spain knows he loves it really; he doesn't exactly protest when Spain curls around him, laying his head on his chest with a sigh.

"You're so mean," Spain mumbles before he drops off, "It's not nice to tease,"

"I'll remember you said that the next time you wiggle your ass in my face," Lovi snorts, "So, pirates...whose idea was it?"

"Franny's," Spain says, "Don't act like you don't love it,"

"Pirates or your ass?" Lovi asks.

"Pirate booty," Spain chuckles to himself. It's not an answer.

"Whatever," Lovi says, "We left our briefcases downstairs,"

Spain doesn't hear. He's already asleep.

* * *

><p>"Did you see that?"<p>

"No, I'm blind,"

"Shut up, Francis. I'm just checking that I didn't imagine that,"

"Oh? Do you often imagine scenarios such as that?"

"Stop that creepy smile. And, no, not with Spain. Well, not with Spain _anymore_,"

"This is interesting. Continue,"

"England, butt out,"

"I was actually just about to tell you that we've all had the same thought before, I'm willing to bet. Spain's an arse, but he's bang tidy,"

"Well, yeah. An idiot could tell you that. But he's all for Romano. And that kid might act like a pussy, but I've seen him take out six gangsters on his own,"

"Not to mention that he's extremely well-endowed, oh hon~,"

"Francis, I don't want to know how you know that,"

"Don't you remember when we went to that nude beach in...oh wait, you were already smashed. Well, a couple of us went for a quick skinny dip on some beach in Calabria- I forget the name- and we were all wondering why he wouldn't get it out,"

"Did Spain?"

"Nah, he never does. Says his body's for Romano, or some tosh. Although with France around, the rest of us ought to go for similar levels of caution. So, yeah, Prussia...you told him your dick was five metres and said some bullocks about how everyone thinks Romano's tiny- stroke of genius, by the way, mate; no-one's ever thought that about an Italian- and Romano was all "Oh yeah?" and whipped off his swimming trunks,"

"It was tres magnifique~,"

"Calm down, Francis. I doubt it was that good,"

"The lad could probably club someone to death with it,"

"..."

"..."

"OK, so maybe I'm talking through my arse a little bit, but it's about the same size as the average erection when it's flacid,"

"...Gives a whole new meaning to "cunt destroyer","

"I wonder how Spain can walk?"

"Practice. Accelerated healing time because we're nations. Romano's probably pretty careful. Spain's a masochist,"

"America, we didn't ask for your input,"

"Haha, input,"

"Oh for...! America, piss off,"

"Pissing off. And telling Spain you were gossiping about Romano's dick. In case you've all forgotten, he's one possessive little psychopath,"

"...America, don't you dare!"

"Does he still have that axe Francis?"

"Yes. Yes he does,"

"...Shit,"


End file.
